


The Inevitable Closeness of Proximity

by Maccadole



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Kissing, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Fondling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10663830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maccadole/pseuds/Maccadole
Summary: One bed, two wizards and the first of seven nights.





	The Inevitable Closeness of Proximity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carpemermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpemermaid/gifts).



> Carpe, my precious friend. Happy birthday!! Thank you for being so supportive and kind to me – especially these past few months. You are such a darling. I wrote you some tropey H/D, because we both like that, and silly Drarry is how you and I met. <3 I hope you like it. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Thank you shiftylinguini for the title. (And the sequel suggestion The Inevitable Proximity of Harry's Cock to Draco's Arsehole LOL ♡)

“There's one bed.”

“Congratulations,” Malfoy said. “You can count.”

“Har har, very funny.”

“Yes, Potter, it was hilarious.”

Harry watched Malfoy unshrink his trunk and levitate it into place next to the bed. What Malfoy didn't seem to understand – or if he did, he was very calm about it – was that they would have to share. The rooms they'd been offered were small: a sitting room with a bookcase, a large desk, two cosy armchairs and one fireplace; a bedroom fitted with a wardrobe, two bedside tables, and one single bed. 

It was a rather large four-poster bed, yes, but still only one. Could they spell it apart? Transfigure it into two, perhaps? Maybe at least split the middle and separate the two pieces a few inches?

Malfoy had started unpacking while Harry had been busy eyeing the centre of the mattress. 

“There's no sofa,” Harry said. “Who doesn't have a sofa?”

“It's temporary housing,” Malfoy replied. He waved his wand, sending a pair of robes floating over to hang themselves in the wardrobe. “There are chairs by the fire – more than enough. There's no need for a sofa.”

“But—”

“Potter,” Malfoy interrupted. Harry reluctantly looked up and met his eyes. “We can barely be ten feet apart. Tell me, how were you planning on sleeping on a sofa in the other room?”

Harry huffed and walked over to the bed. He dropped his bag on top of it and unzipped it. He reached inside and lifted a haphazardly folded pile of clothes into his arm, then he turned and marched over to the wardrobe. He stuffed his pile of clothes on one of the small shelves and batted at one of Malfoy's robes that flew into his face when he turned back. 

“They could've at least given us separate beds. We could've pushed them together.”

“And the difference would be...?” Malfoy asked.

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. “There wouldn't be one, I suppose.”

<><><>

For all of Malfoy's earlier nonchalance, he was being the ridiculous one right now. Harry was comfortably sprawled out on his side of the bed, feeling a surprising lack of embarrassment considering the awkward situation. The bed really wasn't as small as Harry had feared, and they even had their own separate set of blankets. He glanced over the top of his book again. Malfoy was situated right at the edge of the mattress, back towards him, his form rigid and shoulders stiff. His blanket was pulled up to his waist, the glossy black fabric of his pyjama top stretching between his shoulder blades.

Malfoy had pointedly placed his wand on the bedside table closest to the window a while ago, and given Harry a challenging stare. He'd turned around and walked into the bathroom and practically slammed the door after himself. Well, maybe he hadn't slammed it shut so much as closed it with a loud click, in a rather stubborn way. 

Harry had shrugged and changed into a soft t-shirt and loose pyjama bottoms, before getting into the side of the bed he'd apparently been assigned.

Malfoy, a few moments later, had re-entered the bedroom wearing a fitted black silk pyjamas.

“Don't give me that look, Potter,” he'd said.

Now Harry lowered his book, shaking his head at Malfoy's unmoving back, and turned to put it away. “I'm going to sleep.”

“All right,” Malfoy replied.

Harry cast a spell at the oil lamp above his side of the headboard, instantly darkening it. “Are you...” he glanced at Malfoy and the lamp above him. “Never mind. Goodnight, Malfoy.”

After he slid down on the smooth sheet and wrapped his blankets around himself, Harry stopped. He carefully shifted and glanced Malfoy's way again. There were still several inches before he'd even reach the middle of the bed. Even if Malfoy hadn't been shrinking away from him, there would likely be enough room to sleep comfortably. 

Maybe.

Harry shifted awkwardly. He'd been so relaxed a mere moment ago, why was this happening? His book hadn't been that good, and Malfoy... Well, he was... 

Maybe the book had distracted him more than he'd realised?

Harry was all too aware of his own body – the way the blankets felt against him, the way his shoulders pulled up, how close Malfoy was.

When was the last time he'd slept this near somebody?

If he kept fidgeting, Malfoy was bound to make a stupid comment about it. That'd be fine, normally. The git was annoying, but whatever came out of his mouth, Harry could handle it. But, for some reason, Harry wasn't quite up for being teased by that silk-clad twat right now. He wanted to sleep.

Next to Malfoy.

Who was wearing silk pyjamas.

Harry hadn't worn a full set since he was a teenager. Of course Malfoy slept in a shirt that seemed tailored for him. Of course.

Harry sighed.

He turned his head. The blanket was down to Malfoy's hips now and Harry's eyes were drawn down. It seemed the shirt wasn't the only thing tailored. Why would one want to sleep in pyjamas that tight? The fabric stretched taut over Malfoy's bum, cradling his hips. Harry wondered how tight they were in the front, thankful his own worn ones were large and airy. It was true that he usually slept in his pants, not loving the way the pyjamas sometimes wrapped around his legs if he twisted too much during the night. He usually stayed still and enjoyed the warmth and soft comfort of the thin cotton trousers, though.

Movement made Harry's eyes flick up from Malfoy's arse to his arm. He raised it up and fumbled for the lamp above him without success. He shifted up on an elbow and reached higher, his pyjama shirt lifting and revealing a stretch of skin. Harry blinked and in a fluid motion let his eyes travel back up to Malfoy's hand, where long fingers twisted the little knob at the bottom of the lamp, dimming the flame until it went out.

Harry turned his head towards the ceiling and closed his eyes. He heard Malfoy ease back and felt the mattress move slightly.

“Goodnight,” Harry said again. He removed his glasses, folded the frames, and placed them on the bedside table. “Er, sleep well.”

<><><>

Harry turned over in the dark without opening his eyes. He bent his leg at the knee, sliding it up, and snuggled into his pillow. He sneaked one hand under the pillow and moved his head into a more comfortable position. The room was warm, and he used his foot to slide the blankets down to his hips. The sheets were smooth where they touched skin, and the soft edges of wakefulness blurred soon again, slowly bringing him back to sleep. He melted further into the mattress and relaxed. The calm, quiet breathing next to him pierced his mind – rhythmic and gentle – and he listened to it for a moment.

His fingers gripped the corner of the pillow, and he became aware of his own breathing. Just as slowly as a moment ago, his natural effort to go back to sleep reversed, waking him up more. His knee was resting against the edge of the mattress. His shirt felt like it had slid up along his side. He wanted to pull it down, but didn't want to move more than necessary. He didn't want to move at all.

Too awake for his own good, he stayed perfectly still. Everything was far too vivid. He opened his eyes and looked out into the room – listening while watching the dark shadows.

He tried moving, daring himself to get comfortable again, but ended up holding his breath while he shifted. He wanted to roll over on his other side, but felt like he shouldn't. As if some unwritten rule said that he should face away from Malfoy at all times.

Moments later, he closed his eyes and frowned, feeling annoyed. _This is ridiculous. This is how you're going to spend every night? Get comfortable and go back to sleep_ , he told himself. _Stop this._

With the spark of annoyance fuelling his determination, Harry shimmied his hips to the side, rolled over on his back, and flopped over to his other side. He leaned up and rolled his shoulders, tilting his head first one way, then the other. He dropped down and exhaled. He tugged the pillow down to support his neck better and sucked in a breath through his nose. He flexed his fingers and let the tension go – relaxation taking over his limbs again.

In front of him, Malfoy was on his back. He was still near the edge of the bed, but at least he seemed more at ease now. That is, until he turned his head and glared at Harry. Those pursed lips, furiously pressed together, and his brow creased, made Harry's determination change into confusion.

“You graceless brute,” Malfoy bit out. “I understand that this might be difficult for you to grasp, but it is possible to sleep without imitating earthquakes. Perhaps you could attempt to NOT wake me up every time you need to turn over? It is merely an idea, Potter, but one I suggest you take to heart unless you wish this week to be highly unpleasant for you.”

“Oh, leave off,” Harry replied defensively. “We can't all be as _graceful_ as you.”

“Oh for...! Go to _sleep_ , you brutal oaf.” With that, Malfoy huffed and turned around, he, too, bouncing on the mattress. He snatched his blanket up and tucked it under his arm, sighing (rather dramatically, Harry thought) before stilling.

Harry stared at his back. He stared for several seconds, wondering not for the first time why these things always happened to him.

Malfoy slid the blanket down after a while, almost grudgingly, and slowly turned over again. He moved all the way over, facing Harry, while keeping his distance.

“Not a word, Potter.”

“I wasn't saying anything.”

Malfoy closed his eyes and eventually he seemed to relax. _Must be more comfortable,_ Harry thought. He closed his own eyes and let the darkness and the quiet surround him. He'd forgotten how sleepy he was for a moment.

When he blinked his eyes open, almost half-asleep by that point, he saw Malfoy's hair had slid down to cover half his eye, the rest fanning out on the pillow. His mouth was a little open, and he looked... peaceful.

Harry closed his eyes again.

<><><>

The blankets were kicked down to Harry's knees and he felt strangely exposed when he awoke next. Malfoy was clearly moving next to him, gentle light swaying in front of Harry's closed eyelids.

He opened his eyes slowly, carefully, to see Malfoy sitting up in the bed. His wand was in his hand, the tip glowing with a low light. The dark shape of his torso brightened at the shoulders, and Harry realised he was sliding his pyjama top off. It fell silently down his back and Malfoy pulled first one arm and then the next out of the sleeves – transferring his wand between his hands in the process.

He was dimly lit, and a little blurry, but as the wand light passed directly over his chest, Harry could see an almost glistening line running down his light skin. It seemed mostly smooth, but there was something off about that patch of skin. It was lighter than the rest, and before Harry could really take it in, he understood what it was.

He closed his eyes, his heart beating furiously. When he opened them again, Malfoy had turned away from him. Harry stared at his back, the slight jut of his shoulder blades, the line of his spine. He hurriedly closed his eyes when Malfoy started moving again. Harry slowed his breathing, relaxed his fingers, and opened his mouth a little as he remembered Malfoy's mouth had been last he saw him.

He couldn't help it, though, and before he'd made a conscious decision, his eyes were open again.

Malfoy moved the wand to his wand hand, passing the light over his chest once more. The scar was so striking, but it seemed to have healed well. His nipples were pink and his skin pale. 

With a whispered _Nox_ the light went out, and Harry watched Malfoy twist. He heard the soft clatter of wood against the bedside table. Before Malfoy could turn back, however, Harry pretended to sleep.

When he dared open his eyes again – no more than narrow slits this time – Malfoy was lying with his back to him, but closer than before. He was still near the edge, but not balanced there as precariously as before.

Harry laid there listening to Malfoy's breathing as it slowed. He watched Malfoy's back until his eyelids started fluttering and sleep captured him again.

<><><>

The room was stifling hot, and the light through the window made it clear that dawn wasn't too far off. It was too early to get up, but Harry wanted some water. Only... there was an arm flung over his wrist, and a weight on top of his calf. Harry blinked his eyes open and saw Malfoy stretched out on his back, his face angled towards Harry, his outstretched arm lying across Harry's own forearm.

Malfoy's ankle was trapped between Harry's calves – one lying slightly higher up than the other.

Harry's eyes widened when Malfoy stirred, but thankfully he only shifted in his sleep. His foot brushed Harry's leg, their wrists crossed over one another. His blond hair was falling into his eyes again.

Looking away from Malfoy's closed eyes and his lashes, Harry ended up staring at his chest instead. In the first, soft light of dawn he looked...

Harry glanced at his face. His lips were slightly parted again.

Distracting himself, Harry looked down at the scar. It worked for a moment, before his eyes betrayed him and wandered across Malfoy's pale skin to his nipple. It looked so small and soft, the little nub. All bright and pink. Overcome with the strangest burning in his veins, Harry lifted his free hand and touched his fingertip to it. He drew in a breath and brought his thumb there as well, carefully pressing the soft nub between his fingers, hardening it. Malfoy hummed in his sleep. Harry did it again while watching his face.

Malfoy's chest looked smooth, but as Harry trailed his fingers over his pecks and down the scar he'd put there himself, he could feel the soft hairs, too light to see.

Malfoy stirred again, closing his mouth and moving his head. Harry bit his own lip and let his hand glide down. Malfoy had kicked off his blanket, too. He swallowed, and Harry watched his throat work.

“Potter...”

Harry stopped. He splayed his fingers over Malfoy's ribs, holding his breath. Eventually, he let it out.

“I'm sorry.” He looked up, but Malfoy's eyes were still closed. He could feel Malfoy's heart beating steadily under his hand.

Malfoy's face looked a little pinched. “You better be apologising for waking me up, and not for any other sentimental reason.”

“Um,” Harry said, eyes flicking to the scar. “No. Of course that's why.”

“In that case, could you possibly inform me what your rough, uncouth hand is doing?”

“I'm...” Harry said, still looking at Malfoy's chest. “I wasn't looking at...” Harry looked up and searched Malfoy's face for something, anything.

Malfoy's eyes opened slowly, their gazes locking. “Yes?”

Harry quickly flicked a thumb over Malfoy's nipple, giving it a gentle pinch as his eyes grew wider.

“Oh,” Malfoy breathed. “So you're molesting me in my sleep, is that it?”

“Er, no...” Harry licked his lips and slid his hand around Malfoy's neck, fingers pressing into the soft hairs at his nape. “I was just... Why did you take your shirt off, anyway?”

“It was too warm. Bloody heating charms in the middle of the summer,” Malfoy muttered. “Don't know what they were thinking...”

“Malfoy...” Harry inched forward, eyes lingering on the hollow of his throat.

“Ogle your artwork if you must, Potter, but don't you dare go all soppy. It's going to be a very long week if you start that now.”

“I was only...” Harry tried, not really knowing what to say next. He licked his lips again. He was still thirsty – but, more so, he wanted to...

“No. I don't want to hear your terrible—”

“Would you hear me out?” Harry started again. “I only wanted to say that—”

“Oh, Merlin!” Malfoy placed his palm over Harry's lips. “Put that mouth to better use, or I'll spell it shut.”

 _I can't really..._ Harry started thinking, before he instinctively licked Malfoy's fingers, effectively taking care of that problem. With Malfoy's hand pulled away, and Harry's lips free, Harry surged forward and licked his way into Malfoy's mouth. 

Only a moment later, Malfoy groaned and grabbed Harry's wrist, wrenching it away from his neck and placing it back against his chest. Harry's lips pulled up in a smile as he explored more with his hand. He found Malfoy's nipple again and gave it a pinch, loving the sharp sound that came out of Malfoy, and the way he arched his back.

Malfoy's hands groped at Harry, grabbing him and pulling him closer by shirt and shoulder. One hand found its way under Harry's shirt, and Harry moaned into Malfoy's mouth. He sucked Malfoy's bottom lip between his own before sticking his tongue back in, kissing him hungrily.

“You...” Malfoy managed after a moment. Their lips met once again before Harry latched on to Malfoy's neck. “You owe me breakfast for waking me up twice, you disrespectful... uncivilised...”

“It's a deal,” Harry said, his prick rising and his skin flushing. Malfoy gripped his hair and ground his hips into Harry's. “Fuck, Malfoy, I'll make you breakfast for the next six days...” Harry eased back. “If you want.”

They paused, hands still gripping each other and their legs tangled. Malfoy was panting, and Harry grinned at him. Malfoy smirked back.

“That seems acceptable.”

“It's a deal,” Harry repeated. He leaned forward and tugged Malfoy closer. “And for the record,” Harry said, his lips brushing Malfoy's, “I am sorry.”

“You—”

Harry rolled on top of Malfoy and cut him off with another kiss, and a slow push of his hips.

He still didn't know how, or why, these things happened to him – but as Malfoy gripped his arse and rolled his hips up into Harry's, he found he didn't really care.


End file.
